When the Past Bites You in the
by Impulse5
Summary: Whatever happened to Gina Toscano? Read and find out .. and don't forget to review! CSIWW crossover. Joint-fic between RK9 and Impulse.


RK9: Another day, another story and another story means another disclaimer...

Impulse: Aww, it does?

RK9: (stares at Impulse)

Impulse: What?

Impulse: Okay, so we don't really own the West Wing or CSI .. so don't sue us .. because we want to buy the DVDs

RK9: No, we want to take over the world and steal the rights to CSI, don't we?

Impulse: First we wanna buy the DVDs.

RK9: But... if we owned CSI, we could just...make the DVDs for ourselves for free, couldn't we?

RK9: Or West Wing.

Impulse: Shh, we don't want them to know our plan!

RK9: Oh...we have a plan?

Impulse: Huh?

RK9: You're right. We should keep our evil plan to take over the world to ourselves. I'll just go work on our Doomsday Machine now.

Impulse: Stop it!

RK9: (cheerfully ignores Impulse) Enjoy the fic, people, and your freedom! It might be gone before you know it…your freedom, that is…

Impulse: DVDs here we come!

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Josh Lyman, White House deputy chief of staff, stalked the marble lobby of the White House toward his office but he was immediately halted by the yellow tape. Yellow tape? Reality hit him like a brick as he realized what had happened. Like clockwork with his inquiring thoughts, his assistant Donna Moss was there to answer.

"They found a body ... a Senator from Michigan."

The blonde suddenly appeared beside him, looking as if she was there all along. Josh wasn't surprised, she always popped up like that. "What? Right here in the lobby?"

It was highly unlikely, the wealthiest bank in all of the United States had less security than this building.

"Maybe he was moved?" Donna suggested. Like she was any genius, the only history she had with the police was when she gets a ticket for her illegal parking.

"Does the President know anything about this?" Josh inquired, the last thing the president needed to worry about was a dead body in his White House.

A crowd of bystanders went all the way around the perimeter, the only thing stopping them was the yellow tape. Josh and Donna could only see the black uniforms of the police, or crime scene investigators as Josh remembered, buzzing around like flies to... well, to a dead body.

"The Secret Service has him in Residence incase the killer is still here?" Donna was still throwing out guesses. "Why don't you ask one of them?"

"You're right, asking you seems to be such a big help. I'm going to see him." Josh didn't wait for Donna to answer, but headed to the West Wing. Hopefully his boss, Leo McGarry, would be there waiting for him.

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President Jed Bartlet lit his cigarette and took a long drag. His secret service had doubled in size, and having that many bodies in the room yet having complete silence was stressing Jed out. "Sir," one of them spoke up. "I don't think you should be smoking in here."

"Well, Jimmy, I don't think I should be up here anyway, so there," Jed snapped humorously. He knew them all by name even though his senior staff swear they all looked the same.

The door opened and Leo came in. His chief of staff and friend, Leo was always there when he needed him especially in times when Jed wanted to burn him with a cigarette. "Leo, what the hell is going on here? I can't even go to the Oval!"

Leo was surprised that the Secret Service hadn't filled Jed on what little information they knew. "Sir, there's been an accident. Senator Wells from Michigan has been murdered. His body was found in the lobby."

"What? Are you sure it was murder?" Jed was stunned and he felt guilty.

"They won't tell us exactly what's going on, it's now an investigation. The Secret Service are securing the White House to keep you safe, sir," Leo explained to the best of his ability. It was astonishing that a killer could get so far into the White House, dump a body, and leave without setting off any red flag in the entire security system.

Josh walked inside, his coat ruffled and tie loosened, worn out. "God, if they were ever tight about security, they are now," Josh sighed. "I couldn't get up the stairs without being questioned."

"Josh, do you know anything about Wells?" Jed asked.

"Only that it's a jungle down there. Kids on their eighth grade field trip, reporters for the Press conference later, and any type of visitor are down there."

"Any information about when they'll let me out of here?" Jed asked with a glance to the Secret Service men.

"No, sir," Josh answered. "Once I talked to Donna I got here as soon as I could."

Jed sighed then went into offensive mode. "Leo, when the CSI's are bagging and tagging the evidence, have their supervisor talk to me." Jed addressed the Secret Service team. "He will have no trouble getting up here."

Josh raised his eyebrows: _'Bagging and tagging' the evidence? Well, the President was always a nerd for inane trivia._

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C.J. Cregg paced her office in the West Wing, the only thing keeping her from plowing into a wall was a phone cord. "No, there is no information I can release right now. On the record? The White House will be held under lock and key until they can figure this out. Yes, you can take that to your cameras but if you tell anyone ... right. Talk to you later, Jennifer." C.J. hung up the phone. The talent with being a press secretary was leaking the right information to the right people, and for now the right people were CNN. No tabloid was going to take their story, at least not right now. Her intent was to give a source a story for the while until the authorities could finish up and release the real information.

The last thing the West Wing needed was permanent yellow tape around the lobby, the faster this could get done the better. It was in her experience that C.J. knew the less reporters breathing down your neck the faster you could get your job done. This story was going to sweep the nation.

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Daniel Hudson had never seen the Oval office. When he first moved to Washington D.C., he took the standard tour, but it excluded the Oval. The fluffy blue carpet with the presidential seal, comfortable furniture, and of course the desk. Hudson was nervous, even though he had faced many things in his 12 years of service, meeting the President of the United States was nerve-wracking. Unfortunately, Hudson couldn't calm himself down before Jed Bartlet entered the room.

"Mr. President," Hudson unconvincingly tried to mask his fatigue. "I'm sorry about the extra security detail, Ron put his foot down."

Jed walked slowly behind his desk and sat down. "Sit down, Daniel. I can call you Daniel, right?"

"Of course, sir," Hudson sat down steadily into the surprisingly uncomfortable Oval office lounge chairs.

"What's going on?"

"Sir, there's a big possibility that the suspect was already a cleared visitor of the White House, explaining how he got in here undetected. How he dropped off the body and left, that is unexplanable as of yet. Unless the lobby was empty at the time ... but we ran a preliminary check at the possible time of death and it was only a few hours ago," talking to the President of the United States was somehow easy to do, Hudson realized. "Until we get the coroner's report and the evidence analyzed, there isn't much I can tell you. But, I've been on these streets for twelve years, and no homicide has ever stumped me like this one."

"Is there anyone you can think of who could handle this kind of case, Daniel?" Jed asked.

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The apartment was empty when Sara Sidle stepped into it that morning. It had been a long shift, where she'd pulled a double homicide with Nick and Warrick, and she flexed her tired muscles as she dumped her stuff on the nearest chair, turned on the TV to warm it up, and settled down with a can of soda.

The early morning news theme music greeted her, and she closed her eyes, trying to relax.

"Good morning, this is Laura Redman with WXTY, and today we bring you news from the White House where the body of Michigan Senator Harry Wells was found dead in the lobby this morning. The White House has been put under lock and key until the crime is solved, and we hope to have more for you all soon, but for now our sources from within the White House have little more to add to the statement made by the White House press secretary this morning…."

Sara's eyes flew open, she gaped at the screen as they showed footage of a body being loaded into a coroner's van in front of the distinguished building.

RIIIIIIIIING!

Her phone started an insistent ringing just then, and Sara muted the volume before answering. "Sidle," she said into the mouthpiece.

There was silence for a second, then a familiar voice echoed through her head. "Funny. That doesn't sound like Gina Toscano, to me."

Instantly recognizing the voice, Sara automatically straightened her shoulders and said, "President Bartlet?"

"Yes, Sara, it's me. It's Sara now, isn't it? I suppose you heard about the murder in the lobby?"

Feeling like she'd been knocked over with a sledgehammer, she answered automatically, "Yes, sir. It was all over the news." She certainly hadn't expected this old part of her life to resurface. She'd thought it was long buried, and would never return. Of course, she'd once thought she was in love with Grissom, and she'd been wrong about that, too.

"I expected it would be all over the news by now," President Bartlet sighed. "I don't have enough time to explain the details to you, but the CSI supervisor in Washington recommended one person to figure this thing out. When is your vacation time due?"

"I have two months worth stored up, actually," Sara said truthfully. Grissom had been telling her she needed to stop working so much, but somehow she hadn't actually done it.

"Great! It starts now, Gina, pack your bags and I'll have someone wire you a ticket," Bartlet said excitedly.

The sledgehammer now felt more like a ten-ton truck. "Wait - sir, are you saying you want me to come to Washington DC and investigate this?"

Sara heard a long sigh. "What is it you young people say ... duh?" Bartlet replied. "He recommended you, and with Zoey at Georgetown, it'd be nice to see a familiar face."

Zoey. Sara felt a tightening in her chest as she thought of President Bartlet's youngest daughter. "I don't know, sir...I don't think - why me? I wasn't a good Secret Service agent, and it's not like I'm world famous for my skills as a CSI, either," she went on.

"Maybe not world famous ... but if the Washington D.C. CSI know of you, you have to have some skills. I don't think you got this CSI job on your looks," Bartlet reassured.

"Well, have you alerted my boss? Or do I have to?" Sara finally said.

"I would have, but C.J. advised against it. We don't want to send too many red flags in the press," Bartlet explained.

"All right then." Sara couldn't think of any good reason for her not to go. "I guess I'll be seeing you soon, sir."

"I'm looking forward to it. Bye, Gina." Click.

Sara stared at the phone in her hand for a long time. Gina. She wasn't Gina anymore; she hadn't been that person for a very long time...and she had a feeling that Gina was the person the President was expecting to see. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to this too, sir," she muttered, putting down the phone and turning off the television, which was now airing an old Tom and Jerry cartoon.

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Going into work that night, she filled in the forms quickly, and decided to deliver them to Grissom herself, just to see his face. The entomologist wasn't in his office, however, and she searched a few of the labs before finding him handing out assignments in the break room.

"Hey, Sara," Nick Stokes greeted her first from where he was sitting facing the door. "You're late for assignments - something wrong?" He had a point, Sara thought, letting the Texan's comment slide. She was usually the first one there.

"No, actually, I just wanted to ask Grissom to sign these forms - I'm going to DC for a week's vacation."

That got the instant attention of everyone in the room.

"You got a fever, Sara?" asked Warrick Brown, incredulously. The Arican-American was lounged on the couch, a yellow assignment slip in his hands.

"No, I got it - it's an April Fool's joke," said Greg Sanders. The CSI wannabe cum lab tech was trying to smack a cup of decent joe out of the coffee machine.

"Greg, April ended a month ago," said Catherine Willows, who was seated next to Warrick on the couch. "And I don't think Sara's the type to pull pranks."

"Not like someone who sent dirty song spoofs to Ecklie on April Fool's Day," Nick put in, looking pointedly at Greg.

Taking refuge from the bantering, Sara moved to hand the file to Grissom, who had so far remained silent. He read through the forms thoroughly, not because he was curious, but because it was his way - the man was meticulous in everything he did.

"A working vacation, Sara?" he asked, looking up.

"Yes," she answered. "The CSI unit in Washington asked for my help in a case."

Grissom looked sharply at her. "Would that be the latest case with the Senator from Michigan?"

"Yes," Sara replied, as Nick hooted behind her,

"Man, that case was all over the news!"

Grissom sent him a silencing look, and he read a little more before picking up a pen and signing the form. His expression was neutral as he said, "Good luck."

Unsure what to say, Sara nodded and said, "Thanks, Gris." Turning to her friends, she added, "I'll see you guys next Monday. Greg - have pity on the coffee machine."

The lab tech scowled at her, then at the machine, but Sara didn't notice as one by one her friends rose to give her hugs.

And two and a half hours later, Sara was in the air above the city that she had come to love, in a first class seat and on her way to Washington DC, a new crime scene…and her past.

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End file.
